


The Things We Dream

by reyeskru



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Multi, Oneshot, Other, no actual relationships just mentions, some characters are only mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 18:55:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15802554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyeskru/pseuds/reyeskru
Summary: 6 years.2199 nights.Sleep is only an escape for some.





	The Things We Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot takes place during the 6 years between Praimfaya and Season 5.
> 
> Warning: in the telling of Murphy's dreams, there is descriptions of 'monsters' and some graphic detail that may scare some. I did not believe it enough to file under any warnings, however if you are particularly sensitive to such content please read with caution.

When Clarke slept, a thousand images haunted her. Terrible visions, all of her friends and family. There was Bellamy and Raven, gasping for air as they failed to make it onto the Ark. There was Murphy, his neck snapped as he was thrown from his seat into the wall of the pod, dead before he even had a chance of survival. Harper and Monty, their skeleton hands clasped together as starvation overcame them, Monty’s dying thoughts being that it was his fault. Emori and Echo, two Grounders lost in the beauty of space, trapped in a void as the faulty old ship sent them floating away into the tapestry of stars.  
Her mother, and Octavia, and Kane, and all her other friends, hammering on the door as they tried to push up through the rubble, bodies crushed by a collapsed roof, rivers of blood as civil war broke out.  
Madi’s limp body, curled on her side, her mouth open in a final scream as life was mercilessly taken from her.  
When her imagination ran dry, the memories took over.  
She saw Wells’ body, his hands stained with blood and his once hopeful eyes blank.  
The utter loss in Charlotte’s expression as she threw herself off a cliff, a 12-year-old girl plummeting towards sharp stones and her death.  
The feeling of Finn’s body against hers as blood seeped from her shaking hands, a stained knife everywhere she looked.  
Lincoln’s resignation, evident in his still body days after the execution.  
Lexa.  
Her words of hope and a better future, the way she fell, the light in her eyes fading as she died in pain, Clarke’s only thought being 'I could have saved her'.  
Lexa in the city of light, the spark that ignited inside of Clarke only to be extinguished by the bitter cold of reality.  
Aden’s head, Anya’s cry, Sinclair’s blood, the love in her father’s eyes, a void in which Jasper resided; the bleak unknown of his final moments.  
Gone.

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When Bellamy dreamt, his mind was filled with memories.  
The blissful times on the Ark when there were no random inspections for a while longer, no patrolling guards, no controlling mother, just him and his sister playing the same games for hours on end, never bored of the other’s company.  
A thousand times he saw the look on Octavia’s face as she took her first steps outside of their home, reminded that the light of the moon that night was not even half as bright as the light in her eyes.  
He heard the sound of her boots hitting the ground, felt the pride swelling in him as real as the day he was there, watching his sister.  
Always watching over his sister.  
He saw his friends – his family – as well.  
Monty grinning at him, an arm around his shoulders.  
Harper with her glass raised in cheers, winking across the room.  
Jasper’s quick, but emotional, hug. Unexpected but meaningful.  
Raven’s mind, the cogs he could practically see whirring as she came up with some new solution, and the satisfied smile she wore when she did so.  
Murphy’s dry laugh, the signature smirk as he shared a knowing look with Bellamy.  
Clarke’s happiness, hope, courage. Clarke’s everything.  
His everything.  
Everything he saw was basked in a heavenly light, a beautifully cruel reminder that it was just a dream.  
When Bellamy dreamt, he didn’t want to wake up.

––––––––––––––––

Octavia rarely slept, and it was even rarer for her to dream.  
But when she did, she would have chosen exhaustion in a heartbeat over the terrors she was faced with.  
It was almost always the same.  
Death, blood, screaming. Every person she’d ever seen slain in the pit, the twisted faces of the victors with the whisper of 'you killed them' in the background.  
The empire she’d built crashing and burning, every sacrifice she’d made coming back to haunt her, 'it’s for my people' overcome by 'you killed us all'.  
Lincoln, Indra, and Bellamy, turning away from her as she begged on her knees for their aid and guidance, her pleading returning nothing but blank faces and fading memories.  
And always, in the darkest corners of her mind, was herself, fear and disgust in her eyes as she stared at her power-hungry reflection, a body doused in water that could not even begin to clean the blood from her hands.  
Octavia stopped sleeping.

––––––––––––––––

Raven’s dreams were different, to say the least. What else could you expect from a brilliant mind?  
It was always a new problem, a new challenge, and a new solution.  
At first, she loved it. She loved that her mind could come up with such things, and sleeping became an escape in more ways than one.  
But her brain was as twisted as it was brilliant, and she could only go so long escaping the pain.  
A.L.I.E, Finn, Murphy’s bullet, Cage’s drill, every bit of electricity her body had withheld, had left their mark.  
And so with the challenges came obstacles.  
She was being shock-lashed as she tried to connect two fine wires, her hands trembling as the electricity whipped through her body.  
A burning drill drove pain into her as she flew a ship into orbit, the excruciating pain clouding her vision and sending her into a suffocating spacewalk.  
Finn just out of her reach as screams tore through her body, reliving every bit of pain over and over again as each knife on her skin opened a new wound on his.  
Driven mad by her desperation to save everyone as she woke in a cold sweat, every innocent question from her friends sending a fiery jolt of fear through her broken figure.  
The problems she once thrived off of became living nightmares, and there was no escape.

––––––––––––––––

Murphy had taught himself how to block out his past, how to bury the memories, but the one thing he couldn’t get rid of was the future.  
It was a new dream every night, each one terrifying in a different way.  
Some nights he dreamt of death, others of pain, of torture, others of indescribable loss and emotions so heavy they might as well be a lead blanket.  
His mind, driven crazy by the unending suppression of his thoughts, took wild turns, dreaming up aliens with grotesque faces that invaded the Ark as the 7 tried to fend them off, and a bunker filled with skeletons by the time they made it back to Earth.  
He saw his friends in every one, each with an intricate story explaining why they were suddenly hungering for flesh, or pointing a gun at his head.  
Faces with haunting eyes and gaping mouths sneered at him from every corner of his room, the ghosts of his friends who’d died from that stupid algae.  
A one-legged Clarke glared daggers at him as he held a blood-covered knife, and Octavia ordered her new army to hunt him down.  
And when his mind was done with twists and turns, he saw Emori, Bellamy, Raven, every person in his life that he could call family, dead, with mangled bodies and petrified faces, and the crushing pain he felt was enough for him to wake screaming.  
And while he awoke each time knowing that the majority of it was impossible; the future was still inevitable, and it drove him into isolation, thinking that maybe, if he just shut himself off from the rest of the world, time would shut off with him.


End file.
